Grief in the Rain
by Secret-Agent-Omega
Summary: Mal finds Inara in the shower sometime after the BDM.


**Title:** Grief in the Rain

**Author:** Secret-Agent-Omega

**Genre:** Drama.

**Rating:** T.

**Pairings:** Mal/Inara.

**Location on Firefly Universe Timeline:** Sometime soon after the BDM.

**Spoilers:** The BDM.

**Summary:** Mal finds Inara in the shower sometime after the BDM.

**Disclaimer:** The people, places, and plentiful paraphernalia you know and love/hate are the property of their respective owners, namely Joss Whedon, his associates, and any groups which control or are controlled by said individuals. No profit is made by the author of this work of fiction from the creation or distribution of said work, nor is any infringement intended. Plagiarism is considered a serious criminal offense, and punishable by law. Please ask before redistributing this work.

**Length without header:** 2 page(s) at 12-point Times New Roman font; 722 words; 3,995 characters including spaces.

**Feedback:** Some authors don't care about feedback. I am not one of those authors. Giving feedback tells me that you took the time to read it and cared enough to comment on it. Receiving feedback is a wonderful thing, and every author should experience it.

**Notes:** So, I was re-watching "_Casino Royale_" for about the eleventy-billionth time, and the Muse was apparently inspired by the shower scene, because over the next few days I wrote this. It's probably going to be the first in another mini-series (yes, I'm still working on the first one), so don't be too disappointed about where this installment ends.

**Grief in the Rain**

By Secret-Agent-Omega

In a strange twist of fate, the first time Mal sees Inara nude, sex is the furthest thing from his mind.

It's late one night in the weeks following Miranda, and they're deep in the Black, bound for a job prospect. He's just come from the bridge – leaving River to commune with Wash's dinosaurs - and making his evening rounds of the ship, when he hears the shower running in the passenger dorms.

Having chastised Kaylee and the Doctor yesterday for wasting hot water with no intention of getting clean, Mal decides he had better make sure they aren't trying to finish what they started. He takes care to walk softly, anticipating the shocked looks on their faces when he opens the door on them.

And that's when he sees her robe and towel on the hook.

They're from the trunk of sundries she forgot when she left – the trunk he told her he didn't look through – and he never got around to dropping off, because he just couldn't bear to part with any more of her than he already had. The robe is tissue-thin silk, a shade of lavender like the sky just before sunset, embroidered at the edges with delicate curlicues in a deep crimson that matches the tie at the waist. The towel is a perfect match for the robe's color, but so fluffy and soft it might have been woven from a cloud.

Mal's considering turning around and heading for his bunk, in light of who he might be interrupting, when he notices the eerie steadiness of the shower. There's no variation in the sound of the water, like you'd hear if a person were moving around. Most people don't notice things like that, but then, most people haven't spent nights in trenches, with only the sound of the freezing rain to alert them of enemy soldiers. Most people aren't Mal.

The sight and sound together make his gut twist.

Mal wills his mind to calm down as he closes the last few steps to the door; tries to keep his hand from shaking as he reaches for the handle. He's hoping it's nothing, but can't shake the feeling that there's something terribly wrong.

Steeling himself for the worst, he eases the door open.

She's huddled on the floor of the stall, head down, knees pulled up to her forehead, arms around her legs. Her inky black curls are matted to her caramel skin, which is somehow still flawless, though it appears she's been soaking for some time.

His first reaction is relief – she doesn't appear to be injured; there's no sign of blood or bruising. But experience has taught Mal that pain comes in many forms, and he's seen enough men and women sitting like that – in prison camps, after the war – to know that she's hurting worse than any physical wound.

Mal's crouched at her side in an instant, heedless of the water until he realizes how cold it is. With one hand, he reaches for the temperature control and gives it a good twist; with the other, he reaches through the curtain of her hair and tilts her chin up gently.

Her wet lashes flutter open slowly, revealing red-rimmed brown eyes – she's crying, and the thought has his gut twisting again. He pulls her to him, and she throws her arms around his neck, clinging to him like she's drowning and shaking from a fresh round of sobs.

He maneuvers himself into a somewhat awkward sitting position – the shower isn't really made for anything but standing – and gathers her in his lap, rubbing her back and shoulders as she weeps quietly into his now-drenched shirt collar. They sit there for long minutes, until finally she shifts against him and speaks, her voice raw and heavy with sorrow.

"All those people..."

Mal's hands still on her back, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the images burned into his memory: thirty million souls dead, robbed of their will to live because those in power couldn't leave well enough alone. And they were the lucky ones – the ones who didn't go mad, who didn't become monsters.

Mal forces himself back to the present, back to the woman in his arms, and draws her closer as the steam swirls around them.

"I know. C'mon, let's get you dry."


End file.
